


The Art of Hatred

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Quadrant Vacillation, haven't posted in a MINUTE so here yall go, i am not very good at tags can you tell haha, i guess?, i wrote this a long time ago and its bad eee, it's not flat out stated that it's erisol but this is erisol, second person but from sollux's perspective, sol is just reminiscing about his lovely hatesprit, they r just vibing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23944309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Your veins glowed with the gold that could supply power to a whole galaxy, but his were violet tributaries wracked with lightning: he could easily cut off the power that supplied your whole world.Maybe you liked that, maybe you hated him for it.
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Sollux Captor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	The Art of Hatred

He was all sharp angles and jagged-cut, violet-tinted bits of tissue. Not quite carnal, but not quite soft either. It was awfully annoying, how every feature of his challenged yours so closely. The two of you were equally sharp in both mind and appearance. He was skinny, but you were skinnier. Your veins glowed with the gold that could supply power to a whole galaxy, but his were violet tributaries wracked with lightning: he could easily cut off the power that supplied your whole world.

Maybe you liked that, maybe you hated him for it.

Your blood made you warm to the touch like an abused electrical socket, while his made him colder than ice drenched in the despair of war. He smelled like the ocean and cold, vaguely floral night air. Each time you breathed in that terribly delicious scent, you wanted to tear him apart until you found the source of it. His nails were sharp and consistently manicured, painted blacker than your feelings for him. When you said something that really got beneath his skin, his bitter orange eyes would flash and soon his clammy, ring-covered hand would be locked tight around your neck. You didn’t mind. You’d call upon your psionics to return the favor, and if you hurt him well enough, you would get to see that shark-like smile. You treasured it. You considered that lovely smile a trophy, a grand award for your proficiency in the art of hatred. 

His mouth was adorned with sharp fangs that were typically exposed in a snarl. When he wasn’t going on and on about meaningless things, they hid behind pale, chapped lips. No matter how much he protested against your kisses, you got the opportunity to roughly (or even gently, when he was feeling nice) kiss those lips fairly often. You hated him, but you loved hating him. It flipped a primal switch deep inside you back and forth between red and blue, between bleeding and breathing. He was an insufferable, pompous drama queen, and he wore the title well. He’d beg you for attention when it was just the two of you alone. Two was such a perfect number, why waste it on him?

Well, it wasn’t exactly wasting.

The look that fell over his face when you choked him- not quite submission, but not definitely not his usual high strung snark either- was one of the most beautiful you’d ever seen. You appreciated the bite behind his bark. When he managed to wrestle you to the ground and prove it to you until you were leaking the piss-colored blood he hated so much, his teeth fit perfectly into your skin. He’d whisper the nastiest things you ever heard, but you would shoot back with a shock up his spine. You fit perfectly inside of each other. It was a one-of-a-kind hatred that could never be cloned or repeated, and it was no one’s but yours and his. That was undoubtedly the best part.

Even on the days when everything had been flipped, it was the best part. He would be curled up next to you, purring and pressing apologetic kisses to the bite marks he had left deep in your skin. Or you’d hold his head in your lap and run your fingers through the violet streak in his hair, buzzing like one of your bees, too flushed for your own good. You conveyed your message clearly: “come as you are,” because you had his deepest black in your corner, yet couldn’t help but crave his purest red as well. It’s that damn duality motif again, you always believed. You can’t just have one or the other.

When it all flipped back, you both knew that no one would ever hear of those bite marks or those kisses. They were yours and yours alone. Your relationship was sacred, and neither party involved was willing to let curious eyes taint it. He belonged to nobody but himself and made that very well known, but that pure, royal angst and hatred was yours to keep. Everyone else saw him as a shirker; a desperate, soft-bellied prince who lived in a ship full of unappreciated riches, but that was simply not true. You knew his strengths and his shortcomings in a way that not even his best friend, his precious heiress did. You’d never tell anyone who he really was. It was fun to watch him get mad over being coddled and turned away and proven wrong, anyway. You knew that at the end of the day, he’d meet you, his perfect match, and you’d roll around in the darkness, endlessly threatening and challenging each other until you both grew tired. You’d grow tired, but never of each other.

Quite frankly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna lie this was just me working on imagery, it's a little flowery but i'm still proud of it haha  
> also i was listening to honeybee by steam powered giraffe while writing this, it's kind of a bop so check it out!
> 
> smooch smooch thanks 4 reading <3


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